10. Katarina
10
KATARINA
I ball my hands into fists. If I’m going to be killed at the very least, I’m going to make a good showing for myself. I know that it won’t be effective. Humans aren’t supposed to be on this hellhole, but maybe I can bruise my killer. Leave some kind of mark that will last for at least a few minutes. Some testament that I existed.
Something reaches through the opening. As it moves down towards the tie, keeping the flaps closed, I scream and leap.
“Gahhh!!!!!”
I punch through the fabric of tent. My fist connects with something that feels like the steel of the ship walls. My hand explodes with pain. I’m pretty sure I just broke something, but it doesn’t matter because the thing grunts.
Take that you son of a bastard!
I retreat from the flaps. I’ve done my worst. I know it’s not enough, but there’s nothing more I can do. I try to prepare myself to die. Part of me feels like I should be grateful because I should have died when I fell of the cliff. At least Zas’tu gave me much more time.
And I got laid one last time. Best lay of my life by far. The shadow moves and I grit my teeth. This is it.
“Kat?” Zas’tu asks.
“Huh?”
Stupid. My thoughts aren’t moving fast enough. Where is his voice coming from? What is happening?
“Me,” Zas’tu says then the shadow moves.
I bend my knees, ready to launch myself at the monster one more time then, it hits me. That’s him at the door. Oh. I hit him.
“Zas?” I ask, blinking. It’s his hand. Shit. It’s him.
“That’s you? Where were you?”
He pulls the top half of the flaps apart far enough to poke his head through. He sees me in my defensive crouch which I know must look laughable, but he restrains himself. Another little thing that I really appreciate. When he flashes his crooked grin, my knees grow so weak I can’t remain in my tense crouching position, dropping onto them.
“Okay, you?” he asks.
“Now,” I say, shuddering as I exhale heavily. “Where were you?”
He reaches through and unties the flap then walks inside. As the doorway opens, I see a small fire crackling outside which is why his shadow looked so big. I also catch the sounds of meat crackling and the scent of something that makes my mouth water and my stomach growl.
“Breakfast,” he says, shrugging, “hungry?”
“Yes,” I say, tears filling my eyes.
The reaction is unexpected, but I also realize that it’s relief. I thought I was a dead woman. Knowing that not only am I not going to die, but that he’s here and protecting me, it’s a lot. Zas frowns and comes across the tent in a stride, dropping to his knees as he cups my face in his hands.
“Wrong?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. I love the raspy sensation of his scales on my cheeks as I twist my face against them. “No. I’m… I’m good.”
“Good?” he arches an eyebrow, tilting his head to one side.
How do I explain to him what is happening? Our limited words of shared language make complex concepts like this hard to share. I resolve, not for the first time, to learn his language. Most of the girls that came from the jungle with them have done it, so it’s possible. I’ll just have to work at it.
“Yes. Food?”
He smiles and my heart pitter-patters when I see that gap in his teeth and the absolute delight that lights up his face.
“Yes!” he exclaims, rising and pulling me up with him.
He moves his hands to my shoulders and guides me out of the tent. The smell of the sizzling meat makes my mouth water before I see it. Outside the tent he steps around and takes a skillet off the small fire. Four pieces of long, slender meat sizzle in what I assume are their own juices.
One thing I quickly learned after the crash is to not think about where my food comes from. On the ship I knew, but I also didn’t see it happen, making it very easy to push that out of my conscious thoughts.
Since we’ve crashed, I’ve had to serve my time on the butcher patrol. That’s what I call it anyway. One of the daily tasks, especially since the Zmaj arrived and began hunting, is to butcher the meat they have killed for us.
It’s unpleasant work under the best of circumstances and a lot of my fellow survivors cannot do it. They get sick trying. All that experience has gotten me to the point I can eat pretty much anything. Which I think would be true no matter what if you get hungry enough.
Zas’tu sets the pan onto the sand where it continues sizzling. He plucks a piece of the meat out, heedless of the skillet’s or the meat’s heat. His protective scales keep him safe, but he’s also smart enough to know I don’t have that protection. He tosses the piece of meat back and forth between his hands until it cools and then offers it to me.
I thank him as I accept it and then take a bite. It’s tough and chewy but also flavorful. I smile and nod making a ‘hmm’ sound as I masticate it. He watches, not eating himself. I gesture to the food, and he looks at it but shrugs.
“Good?”
“Mmm,” I say trying to keep my manners and not speak with my mouth full. I finally chew it enough to swallow so I can talk. “Yes. Very much.”
To reinforce my pleasure with his cooking I take another bite. His smile broadens and he grabs a piece of the meat, popping the entire thing into his mouth at once. He flashes a greasy smile then sets about breaking down the tent and loading our mounts.